Pieces Of Their Life
by NRC
Summary: Their lives were like a stained-glass window, broken by a fist called Lord Voldemort. Set in HBP, disregards DH. Contains self-mutilation and slightly OOC. Tragedy drabbles - includes character death. FIC CHALLENGE.
1. Apprehensive

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter One: _Apprehensive_**

Draco Malfoy's grey eyes stared at himself in the mirror as he adjusted his black cloak. He didn't make an effort to cover the bags under his eyes.

He felt weary to the bone. He wanted nothing more than for this year to be over—for two reasons: one, so that he could finally live without this great cloud of expectation from Lord Voldemort, and two, so that he could finally tell the girl he loved his feelings.

They had been long-suppressed; it had started from when he met her in their first year. It had grown into something more of a deep respect and admiration for her, although he had done his best to keep it hidden. After all, aristocratic purebloods like him weren't supposed to feel respect for Mudbloods like her.

No matter how he tried to keep the emotion fettered, it had grown and consumed him. To the point that now, as he was preparing phase one of his plan—delivering the cursed necklace to the Three Broomsticks—he couldn't stop thinking about her.

He wished she kept out of the ladies' bathroom today. In fact, he wished she wouldn't step into the Three Broomsticks at all. But the possibility of that was slim; it was a typical winter day outside, complete with snow and heavy winds. She and her friends would want to warm up, and where better than in the Three Broomsticks?

He lightened up a little at the prospect of seeing her, but it was hampered down by the weight of his task. Again, he wished she'd stay out of the magical pub.

There it was again; that feeling inside of him. Blooming and blossoming like the flower he'd left her in front of the Gryffindor common room.

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**AN: **

Written for Written Sparks' **26 Prompts (Alphabet) Challenge**. I will post one drabble a day, the title of each drabble a letter of the alphabet, in order. The next word title can be found in the last paragraph/line of each drabble. That made the challenge just a little more fun for me.

Just a note: These drabbles, while linked, do not happen directly one after the other. In other words, they're not the whole story, per se. They show certain scenes after things have happened. They're in order, but they don't flow naturally together. There are things that happened in between that aren't mentioned. You'll see what I mean.

This story is mostly set in Half-Blood Prince, and switches from Draco and Hermione's point of view almost always consistently.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	2. Blossom

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Two: _Blossom_**

Hermione Granger caressed the soft pink petals of the lily. She had found the flower outside the Gryffindor common room as she was walking to breakfast with Ginny Weasley.

She had wondered aloud to whom the closed flower was for, and the youngest Weasley sibling stared at her and said there was no flower. Of course, Hermione had thought Ginny was pulling her leg, but it was proved that the redheaded girl had no idea what Hermione was talking about when she stepped on the flower.

When she stepped off the flower, Hermione was surprised that its petals were not crinkled. In fact, it seemed nothing more than a hologram. But when she reached down to pick it up, to see if it was real, the flower gladly blossomed in her fingers, spreading its pink petals wide—as if it was smiling at her, welcoming her touch.

At once, she realized the flower was meant for her. Immediately, she wondered on who would leave it there. She immediately crossed out Ronald Weasley, for not only was he not interested in her, but he would not be able to attempt—and succeed—at that level of magic.

For her, curiosity never killed the cat, and she was hell-bent on finding out who left it there.

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**AN: **

This story also does not have conversation. It's mostly like... thoughts. Fleeting thoughts of scenes. It's rather abstract, so forgive me. It's like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	3. Curiosity

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Three: _Curiosity_**

Spotting Hermione Granger in the Three Broomsticks wasn't a difficult task. Not when the girl had placed the lily he'd given her in her hair, behind her ear. Of course, he and her were the only ones who could see it.

He almost smirked. She had put it there to see who would comment on it—she must have figured out that the spell allowed only the castor and the recipient to see it.

Smart.

He was incredibly tempted to strut over and compliment it, just to see the shock on her face, but he knew her friends would blow him up before he got so much as a word out. Especially after what he'd done to Potter on the train.

He hadn't really meant to lash out, but the bigot had landed his father in jail. It was because of his father's failure that he was now being forced by the Dark Lord to complete tasks he'd set. If Potter had kept his nose out of other people's business, he, Malfoy, might see it to the end of the year, at least.

As it was, he'd either get himself killed attempting this task, or the Dark Lord would finish him when, _when_ and not _if_, he failed.

Defy.

It was a word he'd never have applied to himself when it came to his Master and parents. But he could feel his life's end was approaching. He'd chose to break at least some of the rules, and so decided to break the rules that mattered the most.

Defiant of being prohibited from liking a Mudblood, who happened to be a part of the Golden Trio. He congratulated himself on his plan.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	4. Defiant

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Four: _Defiant_**

Her heart beat a little unevenly as she noticed a certain someone closing the front door of the Three Broomsticks behind him.

She had seen the flash of the grey eyes as they studied her carefully, before turning heel and walking out into the blizzard.

She might have just imagined it, but Draco Malfoy had been eying the flower that was currently perched on her ear. He couldn't have given her the flower, could he?

Her best friends had noticed her looking at him as he left. She asked them if they noticed that he looked a bit sick this year. Harry had replied with a shrug, but she could see his eyes hardening. He was about to repeat the theory he had that Malfoy was a Death Eater.

In the beginning, Ron had been on her side—after all, why would Voldemort take on a seventeen-year old to do his tasks? Malfoy was too young. But after endless pointing out of the so-called facts (although Hermione thought it was also because of excessive loyalty), Ron had believed him.

Hermione thought it was a bit far-fetched, and told them so. Harry had been forever trying to somehow convince Hermione, and Ron had always backed him up.

It irritated her no end how they always ganged up on her like that, always echoing each other.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	5. Echo

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Five: _Echo_**

The footsteps travelled quickly down the stone corridor, its owner needing to be out of sight before his emotions overflowed.

He entered the deserted boy's toilet, and leaned over the sink. He felt like he was about to be sick. His long fingers frantically flew to the tap, and turned it on. He reached for the water, and washed his face, as if trying to rid it of the guilt and blame.

He reached his long arms to hold opposite sides of the marble sink, and stared into the dripping tap, its echo loud and clear in the empty stone bathroom.

The plink-plink of the water drops soon ceased as sobs ripped through the room.

For the first time in his teenage life, Draco Malfoy cried.

He cried not because his Master would be displeased at his failed first attempt, but because of the girl he had sacrificed on the way to completing it. No, not even because of her. More because of that girl, Katie Bell, could have been _her_, if she had been the one to enter the ladies' bathroom at that time.

He raised his head to stare at himself in the mirror.

He sympathized with the moth fluttering by the window, vainly trying to escape its prison.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	6. Flutter

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Six: _Flutter_**

Whatever was the matter with her? When had seeing that trademark platinum blonde head sent her heart and brain into overdrive?

Honestly. Hermione Granger was a strong, logical woman. She had prided herself in her focus. Why, all of a sudden, did she let a distraction distract her? Especially when it was in the form of the bigot son of the biggest bigot Death Eater?

She couldn't believe it herself when Draco Malfoy might _potentially_ have given her the flower, but come on! She couldn't be won over just by pretty magical flowers, right?

As if hearing her heartbeat, Draco Malfoy turned around at that precise moment, and his eyes stared straight into hers.

It wasn't the hollowness of the grey depths that had Hermione curious. It was the lack of a smirk on his chiseled face. Usually, whenever he saw her, he would smirk condescendingly at her, but now, there was no trace of arrogance on his pale face.

She turned away from the haunting look on his face, confused. Hermione did not like being out of her depth.

A flash, and the silver gleam from Malfoy's eyes disappeared as she walked down the corridor and away from him.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	7. Gleam

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Seven: _Gleam_**

No, he usually didn't succumb to such pathetic Muggle activities, but he couldn't help himself what with all that was happening. It wasn't the first time, though, and it sure wouldn't be the last. He had heard from who knows where that this really helped with the pain.

Never had he truly disgusted himself as he did now. But he knew he would get what he wanted in the end, even if it was only for a while.

It was her face that was on his mind as he sank down to the cold floor of the empty boys' bathroom.

He held the slim, sharp knife above his wrist, and sliced down. He didn't hiss at the sting, for he hadn't cut deep enough—if he had, his parents would face death, and he would have just wasted his last minutes for the Dark Lord's plan.

The knife caught the light, and the gleam reminded him of her eyes as she stared at him outside the Transfiguration classroom. He had hoped to see some friendliness in those brown depths, but it was closed to him, as if she was guarding herself from him.

He wasn't surprised, but still, he had hoped.

He stood up, and faced the mirror.

There she was. It was the only reason why he tried to escape the pain this way. It was his favourite part.

His hallucination of her.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	8. Hallucinate

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Eight: _Hallucinate_**

The knife clattered to the floor, but he didn't pick it up, not yet. She would only be staying for too short a time, and he had to appreciate it while it was there.

She was smiling at him, her golden-brown eyes warm and trusting. Her trademark curls were loose down her shoulders, and she had her fringe pinned to the side. Her face was sun-drenched, and her cheeks were the colour of peaches.

This was how he wanted her to look when he saw her.

His eyes hungrily took her in; her happiness, her innocence, her love. It was radiating, even in the hallucination.

Draco was proud of it. He felt it captured her almost exactly as he wanted to see her.

This year, whenever he saw her, she had been the exact opposite. Always worrying. There seemed to always be a grey overcast, as if a storm was about to break. Draco knew there was a storm brewing, and he was right in the eye of it.

But he didn't want to think about that, not while his hallucination of her was here. She would only be smiling at him like that for less than three minutes, and he had to make the most of it.

Draco smiled, closing his eyes, savouring the illusion.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	9. Illusion

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Nine: _Illusion_**

No, he didn't have the same platinum-blonde hair, but his blonde was definitely closer than a certain redhead's. No, he wasn't as tall, but his shoulders were set in the same way. No, his face wasn't as chiseled, but it held the same look of superiority.

Hermione shook her head, trying to dispel the comparisons her mind was making between her date, and who she would have had if she had a choice of _anyone_ in the school.

Cormac MacLaggen didn't notice his date's absentmindedness. He was busy talking about Quidditch, his favourite topic, especially when it was 100 Greatest Saves by the Fabulous Cormac MacLaggen.

No, his eyes weren't as grey as his, but his blue was better than Ron's blue. No, he wasn't as pale, but at least he didn't have freckles. No, his face wasn't as haunting, but at least it wasn't always stuffed with food.

Hermione sighed. Was she really at fault if she wanted to spend one night enjoying the illusion that she was with Draco Malfoy? Of course, she'd have felt guilty if she'd asked Cormac out, but it was he who had insisted, almost begging, to go together.

Professor Slughorn's Christmas Ball was turning out to be quite dreary.

Hermione spotted Ron with Lavender Brown, but she felt nothing inside. She felt no driving jealousy; she was well and truly over Ronald Weasley

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	10. Jealousy

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Ten: _Jealousy_**

Trust Filch to be patrolling the corridors that night. The filthy, pathetic excuse for a man had even asked him what he was doing out of bed that late at night.

He had lied through his teeth, of course, saying he was on the way to Slughorn's party, but Filch hadn't believed him. He had proceeded to drag him to the Potions' master's study, and almost thrown him in front of the rotund professor.

At once, he had admitted he was trying to gatecrash—although again, it was just a lie. To his credit, the cheery professor allowed him to stay, and the caretaker left mumbling under his breath.

However, he was replaced by Snape, who had asked to have a word with him. He could tell by the look in Snape's eyes that he was in trouble, but he didn't care.

Because right at that moment, he had spotted her with the Gryffindor dunce, Cormac MacLaggen.

All the colours in the room seemed to become nothing more than a kaleidoscope as anger and jealousy clouded his senses.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	11. Kaleidoscope

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Eleven: _Kaleidoscope_**

She honestly hadn't meant to follow, but something in Snape's tone and Malfoy's face compelled her to.

Creeping around the castle wasn't easy when wearing high heels and a dress. Soon, she gave up; her trail, which was the sound of their shoes on the stone floor, disappeared.

She'd been hoping to hear even a sliver of their conversation, but no such luck. Sighing, she continued on the corridor, deciding to take the shortcut behind the banister.

She stopped when she reached an open classroom. Broken glass littered the floor, creating a riot of colours on the grey stone. Cold wind blew in from the broken stained-glass window.

She knew without a doubt who had caused it.

Hermione wondered why Draco Malfoy was livid.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	12. Livid

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Twelve: _Livid_**

He strode away from the classroom, forgetting to close the door behind him in his haste. He wasn't escaping the room because he didn't want to be found. He was escaping the room to escape the pain.

No physical pain would ever take away the pain in his heart, but the pain he was seeking now would also bring one other thing: her.

As he continued on to the boys' bathroom, he wondered when he'd gotten so masochistic. He had always hated pain, but now, it seemed he was drowning in it.

It was all their fault. His parents', Harry Potter's, Voldemort's, Snape's...

His right hand fisted and smashed the mirror above the sink. The cuts on the back of his fingers, caused from the window-smashing, widened.

Why had she chosen him? _Him_? Of all people, that dunce, Cormac MacLaggen. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy wished he was a Mudblood.

He sneered at his broken reflection. What would they all say if they found out he wanted to become a Mudblood for her?

He moved to another mirror, pulling out his trusty knife. His hallucination mesmerized him as he slowly sank to the ground.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	13. Mesmerize

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Thirteen: _Mesmerize_**

The bushy-haired Gryffindor knelt beside the glass. She was careful not to scratch her knees on the shards.

She stared at the colours, all winking at her, reflecting the light from her wand. In a way, it reminded her of her life. Her life was full of colours, all coming together to make one big picture.

All of a sudden, one big fist just happened to make a hole in it, and therefore shatter her life. It could be repaired, but it'd never be as good as new.

It felt strangely ironic; Draco Malfoy's fist represented the force of Lord Voldemort. The evil command that forced a seventeen-year old to join His deathly crew to wreak havoc and chaos. The same seventeen-year old who happened to be causing confusion in her life.

Clutching a green shard, Hermione suddenly felt nostalgic; in the past, back in the time when all she wondered about was how it was made, her father always brought her kaleidoscopes, and she'd sit for hours, just staring into the glass.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	14. Nostalgic

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Fourteen: _Nostalgic_**

He eyed the Quidditch pitch wistfully. He missed the feel of the wind in his air, the adrenaline pumping through his blood as he searched for the Snitch, the screams as the Slytherins spurred him on.

He even missed the insults between him and Potter, before, after, and during the match.

He missed the pep-talks Warrington used to give before the match. He missed how Crabbe and Goyle would goof off and hit each other with their bats.

His soul withered a little more at the thought. Whoever knew that Malfoy, cold-hearted Slytherin pureblood, would miss having people around him?

He wished his feet would take him to the Quidditch pitch, instead of Hogsmeade, and he had green and silver Quidditch robes. He frowned as he looked down at himself. His black cloak hung limply from his gaunt frame, and the bottle of poisoned mead was tucked in a hidden pocket. He needn't have bothered; everyone was on the pitch, busily watching the game.

He glanced once more out the window. Without really meaning to, his grey eyes landed on a very-bushy haired Gryffindor. His heart longed for her.

There she was, oblivious to him, her brown eyes distant.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	15. Oblivious

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Fifteen: _Oblivious_**

Hermione ignored the red and green blurs in front of her. She ignored the tornado her brown hair was creating on her head. She ignored the screams of the students as they cheered on their teams.

Draco Malfoy was on her mind. His skin was coloured like the stained glass, all except his eyes and hair. His steel eyes stared into her, strong yet vulnerable, fighting yet defeated, defiant yet obedient.

Then there would be a flash of light, and Draco Malfoy broke, like the shards of the stained-glass window in the spare classroom. And she was kneeling beside him, trying to connect the shards again.

But knowing it was hopeless. He would never be repaired. Even if she managed to piece the puzzle of the stained-glass window together, they'd never be perfectly whole again. There would be pieces missing, chinks that would let the cold air blow through.

She sighed morosely, her mind being wrenched from her musings as the groans from the Gryffindors and the shrieks of joy from the Slytherins swelled.

She shouldn't have Confunded MacLaggen; she wouldn't have to sit here and experience the shame the Gryffindors were exuding. Ron had missed the Quaffle again; he really was pitiful at this game.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	16. Pitiful

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Sixteen: _Pitiful_**

Really, he hadn't meant to come here again, but the failures were getting harder and harder to take.

How was he to know that Slughorn would give the poisoned mead to Ron Weasley, in celebration of the most shocking win in Gryffindor history?

And now Ron Weasley was in the Hospital Wing. He had passed by the infirmary while on his way down to the dungeons.

The sight of Hermione Granger holding his hand as the redhead was unconscious had been enough to send Draco into a fit of jealousy and sadness. He'd never be the one whose hand she held.

The knife slipped down his wrist, deeper this time. He picked himself up from the floor, and faced the mirror. There she was again, smiling as usual. Her eyes were understanding and warm. She knew something he didn't; the smile that meant she was holding a secret close to her heart.

His father would say he was pitiful like that. Malfoys shouldn't be pitiful. To hell with his father.

Tears dripped from his eyes as he took her in. He quivered as she smiled wider, as if reading his heart.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	17. Quiver

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Seventeen: _Quiver_**

She had, of course, seen the black cloak swishing past the infirmary. She had seen the blonde hair turning away.

She had debated for a while, on whether or not she should follow him. But in the end, she felt he needed her support more than Ron did right now; after all, the redhead was unconscious, and she felt no romantic feelings for him anymore.

Not after the whole fiasco with Lavender Brown.

The sight that met her eyes was something that shocked her. Draco Malfoy, proud Slytherin, was wilted on the stone floor of the boys' bathroom, blood running down his wrist and unto the water-soaked floor. He had somehow managed to leave the tap running on the sink beside his.

She rushed forwards. Malfoy was shivering, and his left hand shook as he raised it to touch her face. His eyes were hungrily taking her in, as if she were a mirage the would disappear as soon as he got too close.

His cold pale hands came into contact with her warm skin, and she quivered at the feeling. His other hand reached out and cupped her other cheek, all the time looking into her soul, hopeful yet apprehensive, searching, yearning.

His eyes lit up the dark bathroom in their radiance.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	18. Radiance

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Eighteen: _Radiance_**

She was, simply put, a beam of purest light in his dark life. How would he ever thank her for being there?

She had held him as he cried, whispered into his ear that everything was going to be okay. It was because of her that he believed.

He had long assumed, but now he believed. The Dark Lord was in the wrong; Albus Dumbledore was right. The same man he was about to kill. Fresh tears poured as tremors racked his body.

Could he accomplish it, his new plan? His freshly formed plan that could easily fall apart in one second?

The girl holding him wordlessly was worth it, he knew. He promised himself he'd do anything to keep her safe. He would do anything for her; even if that meant becoming a spy for their side at the risk of his life.

None of the Death Eaters would doubt him. He was skeptical that he'd fool the Dark Lord, but it was worth a try.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	19. Skeptical

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Nineteen: _Skeptical_**

She'd spent one hour arguing with them, her best friends. Why couldn't they believe her and trust her for once? Why did they always have to be so bloody stubborn?

She clutched her wand closer to her chest as darkness claimed the corridor. She heard Ron mutter Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder beside her. She squeaked breathlessly as the fluttering edges of cloaks brushed her.

Death Eaters were infiltrating the school. What if her friends had been right? What if Malfoy had just been pulling her leg?

She bowed her head in defeat. It really was happening, wasn't it? It really was a war.

The strongest warriors of last year's Dumbledore's Army sighed in relief as they reached a lightened corridor. They agreed to split up in search of the Death Eaters. She watched, her brow furrowed as she watched Luna go to Professor Snape's office.

She turned and ran, trying to lighten her footsteps. As she rounded a corner, she came across a Death Eater. She raised her wand.

His eyes seemed almost translucent, and she knew this Death Eater was none other than Draco Malfoy.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	20. Translucent

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Twenty: _Translucent_**

Seeing her there, at the end of the corridor, with her wand pointed at him, he could feel his heart breaking. She didn't believe him.

She hadn't trusted him. He could see that in her furious eyes, the set of her mouth.

He just stood there, waiting for her curse. Waiting for her wrath. He deserved it. He couldn't come up with a better plan to save Hogwarts.

He deserved it.

Seeing her lower her wand didn't raise his spirits. Seeing the fire in her eyes flicker and die didn't lighten his burden. Because he knew what was going to happen next.

She walked away.

As if he wasn't there. As if he wasn't worth her time cursing. And that feeling was worse than if she'd thrown him everything she had.

Her feelings towards him was unmistakeable; she hated him to the very core of his being.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	21. Unmistakeable

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
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**Chapter Twenty-One: _Unmistakeable_**

So stupid, she cursed herself.

The way he looked at her, as if he was genuinely saddened that she didn't cast a spell at him... it was enough to tear her heart apart.

But he had led the Death Eaters into the castle tonight. He was the one who had thrown the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder—no Death Eater would go into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

She gave him a chance, and he had blown it. It was clear whose side he was on. It should be clear to _her_ whose side _she_ was on. She was against Voldemort and everything he stood for; that meant no fraternizing with the enemy.

Really, she was supposed to be the smartest witch of their age, wasn't she? She vowed to forget Draco Malfoy.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	22. Vow

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
_**

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**Chapter Twenty-Two: _Vow_**

It was pure madness to join the fray, especially when he was planning to attack Death Eaters. Even more so when he had just participated in the assassination of the Light side's figurehead.

He brushed the tears away before they could drop unto his cheeks. He wasn't supposed to feel guilt after killing his own Headmaster. He wasn't supposed to; he was a cold-blooded Death Eater.

Instead, he was supposed to feel shame—shame that he wasn't the one who had shot the killing curse atthe old man, like he was supposed to.

Without meaning to, his grey eyes landed on her. But it wasn't her hair that caught his attention, like it usually did. It was the wand pointing at her.

He could feel Antonin Dolohov's excitement as he aimed. He only heard the first syllable, before the wind rushing in his ears blocked out the rest of the spell.

_Sect—_

There was a clatter, and he felt warms hands on his shoulders as he lay on the cold floor. He opened his eyes slowly, and her face swam into his vision.

He could feel her tears washing the blood from his face, and his heart soared. She was weeping over _him_.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	23. Weep

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
_**

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**Chapter Twenty-Three: _Weep_**

She pulled the mask off his face as she knelt beside him. She brushed his blonde hair back from his forehead, her tears pouring endlessly as she saw the pain in his eyes.

She sighed slightly. Forget about Draco Malfoy, right?

She didn't pay much attention to the battle raging around her. Nothing else mattered; only him as he lay on her lap with a pool of his own blood around him.

She tried a simple healing spell, but the curse was Dark and couldn't be healed. She'd tried to summon a bottle of Essence of Dittany or a Blood-Replenishing Potion, but for all she knew they could be in Madam Pomfrey's cabinets.

She could do nothing as he shed his blood for her, for her freedom, for her cause.

The few romance novels she'd read hadn't exaggerated; seeing him lying there, slowly dying for her, wrenched her insides open.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	24. Exaggerate

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
_**

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**Chapter Twenty-Four: _Exaggerate_**

He tried to smile as her care touched him. Maybe he was wrong; maybe she did love him, in her own way.

Certainly, if she didn't feel anything for him, she wouldn't be there, holding him again. Why was it _her_ always holding _him_? Why couldn't she be the weak one, with her hanging on to him?

He wished she'd stop trying to Summon a bottle of Essence of Dittany or a Blood-Replenishing Potion. He knew this spell; it was a signature of Snape's. The mad old bat had actually invented the Dark spell while he was in school.

He knew only Snape knew the counter-curse for it. He'd have to go through whole boxes of Essence of Dittany if Snape wasn't around to heal it, and all the world's Blood-Replenishing Potion would just be useless.

He wished she'd stop trying. The slashes didn't hurt anymore. He just wanted her to look at him. He wanted her eyes to be the last thing he saw. He wanted to remember her face, so that he could take his memory into his next life and remember her.

He yearned to reach out and touch her, but he was too weak. He contented himself with staring into her eyes.

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**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	25. Yearning

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
_**

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**Chapter Twenty-Five: _Yearning_**

She felt her heart quicken as his weakened; her pulse beating a faster rhythm while his slowed, until all she could hear was the thudding of her heart.

His grey eyes seemed frozen, glazed, staring into her, as he whispered, "Beautiful."

His eyelids slowly closed as a ghost of a smile flickered on his lips. Her tears fell faster, until she was openly crying, holding on to the cooling body of Draco Malfoy.

She wanted nothing more than for the war to be finished. Nothing more than for the darkness to be gone from life. Nothing more than to have peace and quiet again.

Her wish was granted almost immediately.

Antonin Dolohov, after realizing that Hermione Granger had disappeared from his view because she was kneeling, holding Draco—not because his Sectumsempra curse had hit her—was aiming again.

This time, he aimed to kill. The jet of green light lit up their corner of the seventh floor.

The spell hit her square on her back. She wilted over her lover's body, sighing contentedly as a zephyr cooled her face from the open window, before closing her eyes and joining him.

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**AN: **

This was the only chapter that had a different 'next word'. I couldn't find a fitting sentence with 'Zenith', so I changed it to 'Zephyr', although the next chapter will still be 'Zenith'.**  
**

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


	26. Zenith

**Disclaimer: _I own nothing. All J.K. Rowling's characters.  
_**

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**Chapter Twenty-Six: _Zenith_**

He had never _really_ stopped loving her. Even after his whole fiasco with Lavender Brown, he had never _truly_ stopped loving Hermione Granger.

Seeing her hit with the Killing Curse fuelled Ron Weasley's anger. He saw red, and only one particular mask filled his vision.

The Death Eater who had killed her.

With a grunt, he shot his own beam of death at the gleeful Death Eater. Not two seconds later, before he could savour his revenge, another Death Eater attacked him with a Cruciatus so strong, he fell and blacked out from the pain.

Harry Potter, who had just witnessed the death of his Headmaster by Lord Voldemort, had seen the fall of both of his best friends.

He had grown up with no parents, knowing no pleasant childhood. He'd found family in the Weasleys, in Hermione, in Dumbledore, in Sirius, in Remus. And _one_ man decided to just take everything and everyone he cared about.

Grief, pain, and rage coursed through him.

With a wild roar that could be heard throughout the castle, Harry James Potter shot a series of Expelliarmus spells at the Darkest Wizard Who Lived. While Lord Voldemort barred most of them from reaching him with a Shield Charm, the last Expelliarmus spell was cast as he aimed a Killing Curse at his nemesis.

The red beam and the green beam raced towards each other, both rebounding back from the force of the other spell. Harry Potter's wand flew out of his hand, but Lord Voldemort flew ten feet back as his own Killing Curse hit his chest.

There was a brief celebration, but it was marred by the sacrifices made in the battle.

The sun was directly overhead when Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were buried side-by-side, peaceful and together at last.

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* * *

**AN: **

**WARNING**: This story is like an abstract painting; there are patterns that don't seem to make sense, and overall the painting doesn't seem to be a picture, but there is a story in the art.

**Review your thoughts and opinions.**


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